


Blue Shelled By Life

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Panic Attacks, everything i know about Mario Kart I learned from reading fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had done some scary shit in his life. He'd faced down literal monsters, he'd watched them lower his mother's casket into the ground, and he'd stood aside and let his dad walk out the door<i> every damn day </i>to confront all the terrors of his job with nothing more than a battered tin star to protect him, but in that moment, Stiles did the bravest thing he'd ever done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Shelled By Life

**Author's Note:**

> I have never played Mario Kart, so the description of the game is probably wildly inaccurate.
> 
> Also, I had everything but the last few lines WEEKS ago. I just couldn't figure out how to end it.
> 
> Thanks to Wolfie and FanFicUni for the weekly writing sessions that pushed me to finish this.

Stiles was more busy paying attention to the Rainbow Road than to whatever Isaac was yammering on about when he heard Scott say "Derek" and "New York" in the same sentence. So startled he almost forgot to fire the blue shell he'd been holding for just the right moment, Stiles concentrated long enough to get Princess Peach across the finish line -- first place, baby -- before he dropped his controller and said, "What about Derek?"

Pausing to let Isaac vent his wrath about being blue shelled, Scott finally said, offhand and nonchalant, "Yeah, he's leaving for New York tomorrow."

Stiles could feel his entire face tingle in that too-sharp way before it instantly went numb. His breath caught and stuttered in his chest before his lungs seized, feeling at once frozen and too tight. He bolted to his feet, kicking Isaac in the thigh as he tripped toward the front door, desperation knotting up his throat. Scott looked up at him in question, but Stiles just waved him off, choking out something about getting home.

"Asshole!" Isaac yelled after him, too busy paying attention to the mocking avatar of Princess Peach zooming along happily in her cart to realize that something was wrong.

But Stiles didn't stop, didn't respond, just kept moving forward until he was on the front porch, the door shut firmly behind him. Sliding down the solid wood, his ass bumped across the raised threshold before landing on the porch. He breathed in and out, timing it even though he didn't really _think_ he was going to have a panic attack, it just…

It felt like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed everything inside it in a cruel fist. It _hurt_ , brought tears to his eyes, made his entire body feel too heavy. It was all he could do to just keep breathing. 

But after a while, long enough that the sun was just hanging squat and brilliant orange, barely touching the tops of the trees, Stiles stood up and shoved his hand in his pocket. Keys clenched in his fist, he placed one foot in front of the other until he was sitting in the driver's seat of the Jeep. He kept up the breathing exercises as he started the engine and put it in gear. Instead of the foggy blurriness that he normally experienced when in the midst of a panic attack, it was like his vision was in hyperfocus. He felt like he could see all the way to the edge of town and all the colors were too bright, the trees too green, the sky too blue.

Stiles had no idea what this was he was feeling; he just knew he hated it. 

He hadn't really had a destination in mind when he left Scott's house, but it didn't surprise him when he found himself a few blocks from Derek's loft. From that point on, every turn was deliberate, calculated. He put on his blinker with a snap of his wrist and braked slow and steady, steeling himself as he turned into the parking lot and pulled his Jeep in behind the Camaro, blocking it in. 

Maybe it was an asshole move, but it wasn't like he'd started it. 

The wait for the elevator felt interminable, but he knew there was no way he'd make it up the stairs if he tried right now. He needed to be trapped inside that box, needed to hear the gears grinding as they pulled him up to the top of the building. Needed the doors to close him inside so he wouldn't bolt. Needed to see his wavery reflection in the polished steel lining it. Needed to hold himself up on the rail that ran around the interior, as shaky as his knees due to the missing screw. Needed to feel the sucking pull of gravity anchoring him in place.

When the doors finally opened with the squeal of old machinery, Stiles rubbed his fingertips against the palms of his hands, not quite making fists, but close enough. Then he stepped out, still in that hyper-focused reality where every footstep felt like it had a specific placement. 

He didn't bother knocking on the door, just rolled it open and stepped into the loft. What he saw made that fist in his chest jerk, made it squeeze ever tighter, because Derek had a suitcase.

Derek had a _suitcase_.

With barely a glance at Stiles, Derek walked around the loft, picking up articles of clothing and… and _things_... and putting them into his suitcase. He even had a black overnight bag, probably filled with shampoo and deodorant and…

Stiles squatted down, dropping his head until it was almost between his splayed knees, his hands laced behind his neck and clasped tightly to keep the shaking to a minimum. 

"Stiles? What… are you okay?"

Stiles just let out a bark of laughter, eyes squeezed tightly shut. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he almost fell over, almost just sagged straight to the floor and through it to the ground dozens of feet below. But he picked himself up instead. Stood up straight and braced himself on his own two feet because apparently that was something he was going to have to do. Forever. 

"When my mom died," he said, face twisting with a singular sort of agony when he felt Derek's hand jerk on his shoulder, "I stopped letting people in."

"Stiles?" Derek moved closer, face soft with that special sorrow that Stiles recognized. It was the same shared pain he himself felt when someone mentioned Derek's family.

They were part of a select group: those who'd lost something far too precious, far too young.

And what was he going to do now? Now that Derek was _leaving_? Who would be there to look at him like this? To understand the knife-edged sorrow that still stabbed through him everytime he got a whiff of her perfume or heard a little knobby-kneed boy shouting joyously for 'Mommy.'

But Stiles just straightened his spine and stepped back, dragging his shoulder out of Derek's firm, stabilizing grip. 

"I shut out people. Everyone. Except Scott, because he wouldn't let me." Stiles let out a huff of a laugh that was more like a sob. "And for _years_ , I was content with that. I was fucking _happy._ Do you... do you even understand that?" Before Derek could respond, Stiles barrelled on. "But you. No. You just couldn't stay on the other side of that wall, could you? You had to... God, you just..." Stiles dragged his hands through his hair, his vision finally blurring as tears gathered, fury following close behind, his face blooming with heat. "You're such a fucking _asshole_. I fucking _hate_ you."

"I--"

"No!" Stiles angrily scrubbed at his cheeks, blinking away the tears until he could see Derek again. Derek, who was standing there looking small and hurt. Which... "Who gave you the fucking right? You think you can just roll up in here, make people _care_ about you, and then just _leave them_? Who the fuck does that, Derek?"

Derek, face pale, scrunched his eyebrows, his lips opening and closing a few times before he dropped his eyes to the floor, nodding to himself. "You hate me."

"What? You...seriously?! That's what you took away from that?" Stiles flung his hands in the air, his frustrated yell echoing around the loft before probably packing itself up with Derek's toiletries in his fucking _suitcase._ Because Derek had _luggage_. That he was using to leave Stiles. At that thought, all the fight went out of Stiles, and he slumped like a marionette with its strings slashed. 

"No," Stiles murmured, staring at the dark brown suitcase where it lay open on the bed. "I _don't_ hate you. I hate myself for letting you in." He choked on a laugh, eyes falling closed under the weight of his own sadness. "It's not your fault I was stupid enough to fall for you. Story of my life, right?"

"Stiles--"

"Enjoy New York, Derek. Just... be happy or something." 

Hands on his face made Stiles open his eyes to see Derek _right there_ , his face no longer pale but flooded with color, his eyes as bright as Stiles had ever seen them while still human. 

"Come with me."

Stiles jerked, his heart stuttering painfully. His hands came up to wrap around Derek's forearms as he tried to force his brain to accept what he'd just heard. And then... and then he had to break himself all over again because he couldn't. _He couldn't_. "I can't," he gasped, the words low and painful. "I can't just uproot my life as easily as you can. I can't--"

"My life? What are you talking about?" Derek's fingers went slack where they'd been pressing so tenderly against Stiles' cheeks. Only Stiles' grip on his arms kept them from falling away entirely. 

"I'm talking about _you_ ," Stiles said slowly, blinking past his own heartache to truly take in the confused expression on Derek's face. "...Moving to New York?" he added, like Derek needed the reminder.

" _Moving?_ " Derek stepped back, jaw tightening and eyes starting to harden. "Who told you I was _moving_ to New York?" 

"Scott said," Stiles started, then trailed off, something a lot like horror beginning to bloom in the pit of his stomach. "Uh. He said. Oh shit."

Stiles' heart began to thump too hard, too fast. His breathing went all airy, his lungs working too hard in his chest as his lips started to go tingly and his ears buzzed. He'd just.... he'd just burst in here. Told Derek _everything_ he'd never meant to say. And all because--

"Scott told you I was moving?"

"No," Stiles wheezed, backing toward the door on numb legs. "He said," Stiles choked, flailing as he tripped and landed on his ass. "He said you were _leaving_ for New York." Dropping his face into his hands, Stiles moaned. "Oh god, I just...."

"When my family died," Derek said, his soft voice cutting through Stiles' inner wailing, "I turned off. I shut everyone out. I told myself it was easier that way."

There was nothing on earth that could have made Stiles stop hiding behind his hands in that moment -- his mortification was too complete. Nothing except that tiny, barely noticeable note of vulnerability that made Derek's voice waver just the tiniest bit. Just enough that Stiles _had_ to look, his bone-deep need to protect this man too strong to deny.

Dropping to a squat in front of Stiles, Derek picked up one of the hands Stiles had dangling limply over his knee and began tracing abstract designs over the back, Derek's eyes trained on what he was doing but unfocused, hazy. A hard swallow made his throat bob in a stupidly attractive way, snagging Stiles' attention until Derek spoke again.

"And then you came along. You annoyed me and provoked me and made me so fucking _furious_." Derek's eyes cut to Stiles' then, something both apologetic and beseeching in them. "You scared me. I wanted to be numb, to stay turned _off_ , but--"

"I turn you on, huh?"

Derek's eyebrows slammed down, his lips twisting as his nostrils flared with an irritated huff, but Stiles could see it hiding there, the humor that turned Derek's eyes more green than hazel. "That's what you took away from that?" he mocked. 

"Yeah, well…" Stiles shrugged, eyes dropping to where Derek's fingers were still lightly trailing over his hand. "What can I say? I'm a moment-ruining asshole."

"I'll take _Things I Already Knew About You_ for a hundred, Alex." 

Stiles felt all the knotted places in himself unwinding as he and Derek shared a small laugh at that. Everything went a little strange, a little quiet, like the entire universe was waiting for something just a little… _more_.

It was obviously time for a grand gesture.

Stiles had done some scary shit in his life. He'd faced down literal monsters, he'd watched them lower his mother's casket into the ground, and he'd stood aside and let his dad walk out the door _every damn day_ to confront all the terrors of his job with nothing more than a battered tin star to protect him, but in that moment, Stiles did the bravest thing he'd ever done. It was as small and simple as turning his hand over and waiting, hoping against hope that Derek would accept the offer that it was.

A heartbeat passed, and then two, and Derek's lax fingers twitched against his palm before smoothing over the rough places almost reverently. Even the bristly hair on Derek's cheeks seemed to lay still for a minute as the world went quiet around them -- or maybe that was just Stiles' soul giving in to the drama of the moment -- the only sound the rasp of skin on skin as Derek slid his fingers between Stiles', interlocking them in a grip so tight, it made one of Stiles' knuckles pop.

"Come to New York with me," Derek offered again, his thumb rubbing mindlessly over Stiles' hand, like he couldn't get enough of the simple touch.

Stiles cleared his throat once, and then again when that didn't do the trick. "How long?"

"Four days. My plane leaves in the morning, and we'll be back on Wednesday. I just… I have to decide what to do with Laura's things, and it'll be easier if--"

"Yes. Of course. _Of course_ I'll go with you." Stiles leaned forward, put himself right in Derek's space, offering comfort and warmth and _pack_ as he wrapped his free hand around the back of Derek's neck and squeezed, drawing him forward until their cheeks were pressed together. 

They sat like that for a while, Stiles' ass slowly going numb from the hard floor, Derek's thighs and knees probably not altogether happy with him, until Derek's breathing went from harsh and ragged in Stiles' ear to soft and calm. 

"I should call the airline," Derek finally murmured, though he didn't make a move to get up. 

"I should probably tell my dad I'm going out of town. And, you know, pack a bag myself. Not that I have any fancy luggage like yours…" Stiles' eyes darted to where the suitcase lay open on Derek's bed, no longer a heartbreaking sight.

"I still have plenty of room in mine. I'll bring it over later and you can pack your things on top."

"So you're saying you want me on top."

Even _Stiles_ had a hard time believing those words had come out of his mouth. He was all set to stammer an apology when Derek shrugged and pushed himself to his feet, tugging Stiles up as well. 

"Eh, I'm flexible. Top, bottom, whatever." Then, dropping Stiles' hand, Derek went back to packing the shirt he'd discarded when Stiles came in, as calm and collected as you please.

"Wait. You… just. What?" When Derek's shoulders began to shake just a little, Stiles let out an aggravated, "Asshole!" And then, because the thought occurred and _why the hell not_ , he asked, "So does that mean we can join the mile-high club?"

Peeking over his shoulder, Derek fixed the flattest of all looks on Stiles and said, "I am not having sex for the first time with you in a tiny excuse of an airplane's toilet."

Stiles stared at Derek for a solid thirty seconds in silence while his brain rebooted. Finally, choking out a strangled cough, he asked, "Does that mean you'll have sex with me for the _second_ time in a tiny airplane toilet? Because, I mean, wow." Exaggeratedly glancing at his watch-free wrist, he whistled. "We have like, a solid fourteen hours before we have to leave for the airport and…"

"And I guess you'd better help me pack up all this shit on my bed so we can do other things on it, huh?"

Stiles had never moved so fast in his life, though he did stop to half-heartedly grumble, "Sex before the first date; you'll never respect me now."

"What?"

"What, what?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek sighed. "We've been on plenty of dates."

Stiles blinked at him, dumbfounded. "When you say _we_ , you must be talking about you and the mouse in your pocket, because I am pretty fucking sure I'd remember if we'd ever been on a date."

"Do I need to recount them all? Ugh, fine. Let's see… There was that time we went on a midnight stroll through the Preserve. Actually, there were lots of those." Derek smiled into the distance like he was fondly recalling an actual date.

"Dude, when we're in the Preserve at midnight, we're usually running for our lives," Stiles pointed out, but his lips were twitching as he shoved Derek's toiletry bag into a zipper pocket -- after noting he'd need to remember to pack his own lube and condoms for the trip.

"So it was a _brisk_ stroll. And then there was the romantic swim where you held me in your arms for two hours…"

Getting into the spirit of things, Stiles piped up with a cheery, "Or what about that weekend in Mexico?" At Derek's wince, he bit his lip and said, "Too soon?"

"Just a bit."

A companionable silence fell between them as they packed up the last few things, Derek occasionally stopping to mutter to himself a list of items he'd already packed. Stiles felt the moment settle softly around them, and he couldn't stop the smile that stretched his lips wide or the happiness that was probably radiating from him. Definitely radiating, if the way Derek sniffed and then shot him a small smile was any judge. 

"We're going to New York," Stiles offered in explanation, shrugging, as he shoved a pair of Derek's underwear -- his _underwear_ \-- into the suitcase.

" _We're_ going to New York." Dropping his Kindle and the charging cord into the front pocket, Derek zipped everything up and lifted the suitcase to the floor. In one smooth move, he turned to Stiles and cupped his cheeks, tugging him forward into a soft, unhurried kiss.

A first kiss.

 _Their_ first kiss.

Stiles' knees went fucking weak. 

Needing to regain a little dignity, he pulled free of the kiss with a sigh. "I feel like we should play Mario Kart." At Derek's blank stare, he added, "I was playing Mario Kart with Scott and Isaac when I found out you were going to New York. You know. Bring the day full circle or some shit."

"I've _played_ Mario Kart with you before," Derek muttered, eyes straying down to Stiles' lips again. "I feel like we'd be better served if I just randomly push you off the bed in the middle of sex instead."

"Hey now." Stiles couldn't stop smiling. He probably looked like some deranged version of the Joker, judging by how stretched his lips felt, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "If you're gonna real life blue shell me, at least wait til the sexy times are over."

Derek's only response was a kiss-smothered groan.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm on [tumblr](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com).


End file.
